THWACK 7: Back in Action
Phoebe Wallingford's hand was itching. It had been far too long since the last thwacking, and she desperately needed to administer another one.
She steered up and down the streets of Pine Valley, keeping her eyes peeled for an appropriate victim. Sure enough, after a few minutes, who should she spy, toting a grungy canvas bag over his shoulder, but J.R. Chandler himself. He was prime thwacking material if Phoebe had ever seen it, and she homed in on her target with single-minded accuracy.
J.R. almost fell over the wheelchair that was blocking his path. He brushed his shaggy hair out of his eyes and peered down. "Mrs. Wallingford, hi."
"I thought you had left town indefinitely, J.R.," she replied.
Somehow mistaking her frosty tone for one of welcome, J.R. dropped his bag and settled onto a packing crate that lay in front of the nearest building. "I did leave." His nose and lips twitched, and his eyes watered.
Phoebe stared at him. Her hand itched more persistently.
"I went off on a tramp steamer to see the world and to get over my sense of ill usage," J.R. continued once he had his facial contortions under control. "Now I'm back," he added unnecessarily. His lip twitched again.
"Stop doing that," Phoebe said irritably. "With all of that twitching going on, you look like a demented rabbit."
J.R. looked dumbly at her for a moment before going on. "I'm giving my dad another chance. But if he treats me like crap again, I won't stand for it. He needs to respect me. I've been through a lot, after all. I was driven into the world of drugs. And my mom died." At the conclusion of this awkward little speech, he grimaced, licked his lips, and squinted in quick succession.
THWACK! Phoebe's blow knocked him sideways. "I've heard enough from you, you boring, facial-contorting, tic-producing, self-centered, poor-little-rich-kid," she informed J.R. "Two actors ago you were cute and appealing, but those days are becoming harder and harder to remember."
J.R. rubbed his head and gaped stupidly at her, drool beginning to run down his chin. "What am I supposed to be doing now?"
Phoebe smiled; she might have actually thwacked a little sense into this one. "Catching the next tramp steamer back out of town," she answered. "If you hurry, you can be gone again by lunchtime." Just to be sure, as J.R. wandered back the way he had come, Phoebe unearthed her cell phone and dialed the shipyard to arrange his quick departure. She was perfectly happy to pull a few strings if it meant getting rid of J.R. once more.
As she finished her call, Phoebe's hand began to itch again, and she resumed the hunt for her next thwackee.
I know J.R.'s off the show for now, but the horrible memories of his last stint linger. Next time around: Who will get thwacked? So many deserving characters. How to choose? Well, check back soon and find out who Phoebe's thwacking hand encounters.